


After Long Years

by lielabell



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-14
Updated: 2009-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lielabell/pseuds/lielabell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If I should meet thee/After long years,/How should I greet thee? -/With silence and tears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Long Years

When we two parted  
In silence and tears,  
Half broken-hearted,  
To sever for years,  
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,  
Colder thy kiss;  
Truly that hour foretold  
Sorrow to this.

Ginny watches as the train pulls out of sight and sighs. Beside her Harry shifts his weight, his hand dropping from his forehead to his side. He shakes his head once then turns towards Ron, who is awkwardly patting Hermione’s back.

Harry smiles and beckons. Ron gives Hermione one last pat and then hurries over. His relief is palatable and Ginny stifles the urge to roll her eyes as she take his place by Hermione’s side. She rubs Hermione’s back the same way she does her children’s, in slow small circles.

“Don’t worry about Rose,” Ginny says in soothing voice. “She’ll be fine.”

Hermione doesn’t reply, merely sniffs and shakes her head. Ginny remembers how it felt the first time James left and makes sympathetic sounds as her eyes begin to scan the crowd. With a start, Ginny realizes what she is doing and focuses her attention on the children instead.

Lily is still dejected, her sunny smile replaced with a sullen expression, but Hugo is in high spirits. He glances around and then leans close to his cousin, whispering something that makes her giggle. Ginny smiles as she watches Hugo do an impersonation of an elderly witch a few meters off. He looks so like Ron at that age, right down to the crooked smile and smudge of dirt on the tip of his nose.

It seems strange to her that she has two children old enough to attend Hogwarts and stranger still that Ron does as well. Wasn’t it only yesterday that she was standing on the platform watching the train carry Ron away and trying not to cry? And here she is comforting his wife. Ginny shakes her head bemusedly and thinks about how time has made a fool of her.

Hermione sniffs again and Ginny attention is pulled back to the present. She feels Hermione shift slightly and steps away, knowing without words that her sister-in-law is fine. Ginny glances over at Ron and Harry. Their heads are bowed together in conversation and she wonders what grand conspiracy they are plotting between them.

Hermione moves to join them and Ginny frowns. Even after all this time she is on the outside looking in. Ginny takes a hesitant step towards them and then stops. She takes a deep breath and turns towards Hugo and Lily instead. It’s simply easier that way.

She smooths the back of Lily’s shirt and straightens her collar, clucking over the mess the wind has made of her daughter’s curls. “I thought I told you to put a ribbon in it,” she says more harshly than she means.

Lily’s face clouds over as she shoves a hand inside of her pocket. She pulls out the ribbon in question and places it in Ginny’s hand. “It’s pink,” she mutters.

This time Ginny does roll her eyes. “Well, that’s easily remedied,” she murmurs and taps the ribbon with the end of her wand. It obediently changes to blue and Ginny wishes that her life was so compliant.

She casts an untangling charm and deftly plaits Lily’s hair. She ties the end off with long-practiced ease and admires her handiwork. “Much better,” she tuts. Lily squirms away and flashes a wide smile over her shoulder that reveals her missing tooth. Then she grabs hold of Hugo’s arm and pulls him away, whispering furiously between giggles.

Ginny feels a pain of sadness, remembering the days when Lily would cling to her side. Ginny turns towards where Harry, Ron and Hermione are standing. Harry is laughing at something and Hermione looks slightly perturbed. Ron’s grin is as wide as it ever was and still slightly crooked. Seeing them like that, in a pose she’s seen at least a million times, makes Ginny once again feel like time has slipped her by.

She swallows past a lump that wasn’t there a moment ago and blinks back tears.

The dew of the morning  
Sank chill on my brow -  
It felt like the warning  
Of what I feel now.  
Thy vows are all broken,  
And light is thy fame:  
I hear thy name spoken,  
And share in its shame.

Draco stands in a group of acquaintances, ignoring what they are saying. His wife is paying attention, she will tell him later any important details he may have missed. On either side of him are Zabini and Goyle and the way they are bracketing him is both unwanted and familiar. Their presence makes Draco feel as if the past twenty-five years never happened and it is himself, not his son, who is leaving for Hogwarts for the first time.

It is an uncomfortable feeling and Draco moves to his wife’s side to escape it. She smiles up at him, eyes full of questions, and he pats her hand reassuringly. Astoria lets the smile drop, her expression neutral, and turns her attention back to the conversation and Draco remembers why he was standing on the other side of the group. He inwardly curses, but knows that he can’t move back again without drawing attention to himself. So he stands and stares and hates himself for doing so.

She’s there, standing between her husband and her brother, smiling at something one of them said and it eats at him. Draco feels his hands fisting and forces them flat against his sides. He takes a deep breath, fighting to contain the hopeless rage that always fills him when she is near.

Draco knows he is frowning and attempts to smooth out his features. He even goes as far as listening to what the other are saying. This turns out to be a mistake as they are discussing the very person he is resolutely trying to ignore.

“She puts on such airs,” Daphne is saying. “Doesn’t she, Gregory?” Goyle nods, supporting his wife’s claim. “What did she ever do that mattered? It’s The Golden Trio, not quartet.”

Draco glances at Astoria and she gives him a subtle nod before saying, “I don’t see any airs, Daphne. The woman’s a housewife, for Merlin’s sake. What can possibly be pretentious about that?” then she deftly turns the conversation to the new cauldron tax and Draco lets his attention lapse.

A housewife he thinks, his lips turning downward. Harry Potter’s housewife. He takes a deep breath and wonders why that fact still stings. She’s been married for fifteen years now. Never once in all that time has she ever shown any symptoms of doubt or regret.

He’s been married for twelve years. Draco’s been as happy as he could expect to be, given the circumstances. His wife, Astoria, is perfunctory. Their son is a joy, the one spot of bliss in Draco’s life. There is no reason for him to feel as though something is missing. There is no reason for her to matter at all.

Draco shifts and lets himself stare over the shoulders of the people standing across from him. His eyes drawn, as they always are, to her and the ache he has no reason to feel once more blooms inside him.

They name thee before me,  
A knell to mine ear;  
A shudder comes o'er me -  
Why wert thou so dear?  
They know not I knew thee,  
Who knew thee too well: -  
Long, long shall I rue thee  
Too deeply to tell.

“Some things never change,” Ron says with a nod and Ginny glances over her shoulder.

Yes, she thinks, some things never change. Like the fact that you can’t see him without mentioning him and I can’t see him without wanting to cry. She turns away and ignores the comments Harry and Ron are exchanging.

Ginny licks her dry lips, her hands bunching in the fabric of her skirt. Harry gives her a concerned smile and she shakes her head in response. His hand slips into hers and, though it gives her no comfort, she returns the gentle pressure. He leans forward and brushes a hair off of her face and she smiles weakly at him, guilt roiling in her stomach.

I don’t love you, she imagines herself saying. I don’t think that I ever have. She swallows a bitter laugh, knowing that she never will. Harry squeezes her hand again and Ginny ducks her head. She presses her lips together, determined to shake this mood.

Harry is a good husband. He’s thoughtful and kind. Yes, he is often distracted and Ginny is fairly certain he doesn’t know the first thing about her, but Ginny honestly believes he loves her and it’s not his fault she doesn’t return the emotion. It’s not his fault he isn’t someone else.

Fifteen years; they’ve been married for nearly half of her life. Not once in that time has he ever given her cause to regret sharing so much of her life with him. He was patient and understanding at the beginning, he never pushed her or demanded an explanation, although he was well within his rights to.

Together they have built a life many would love to have. They have three wonderful children, a large house filled with happy memories and a deep mutual respect and friendship. Ginny cares a great deal for Harry. She knows his likes and dislikes, his personal habits and how he takes his tea. She has been the perfect wife in all respects. But she doesn’t love him.

She knows what love is. She loved once, with all that she was. Ginny gave herself over to the flame without ever considering what the fire could do. And she burned. Yes, Ginny knows what love is; she knows what loss is too. She knows how deeply it cuts, how hard it is to heal.

Ginny spent long nights crying herself to sleep. She spent years wondering why. It took her longer than she cares to admit to get over him and sometimes she wonders if she actually did. Sometimes she thinks that all she ever did was put a patch over that part of her heart, a patch that does nothing to hide the pain.

It amazes her that she could hurt as much as she did. Their's was a brief affair, lasting only a few short months, and it never seemed fair to her that something so temporal could cause such lasting damage. It was fear that prompted her to say yes when Harry asked her to marry him. Fear of falling again.

She knew that she would never feel that sort of passion for Harry and she felt safe in that knowledge. It was worth it, she thought at the time, to be sure that she will never feel that pain again. A part of her still believes that she was right. A part of her knows that she was wrong. Because Ginny didn’t escape that pain. How could she, with him around to remind her of everything she had and everything she lost?

Ginny takes a steadying breath and leans her head on Harry’s shoulder. He wraps his arm about her waist and drops a kiss on her brow. It doesn’t comfort her. It doesn’t stop the tears. Harry, oblivious as ever, tries his best to sooth her.

“You still have Lily,” he placates, his grip tightening. “And Al will write. It’s not so bad, now is it?”

Ginny studies his face, taking in the concerned look in his eyes and the tightness around his mouth. She made her choice long ago and she feels no self-reproach. Harry is good to her, better than she deserves, and so she does what she always does. She stuffs her emotions back behind that patch, she forces herself to smile, and she answers her husband truthfully.

“No,” she says, “It’s not bad at all.”

In secret we met -  
In silence I grieve  
That thy heart could forget,  
Thy spirit deceive.  
If I should meet thee  
After long years,  
How should I greet thee? -  
With silence and tears.

Draco watches her lay her head on her husband’s shoulder and feels as though she has stabbed him in the heart. It kills him, how happy she is, how carefree. He feels the lack of her like a physical blow. Every second of every day he laments the loss of her. And he has no one to blame but himself.

Looking back on it everything makes perfect sense. He should have realized that something so good would never last. Of course he would lose her. And who he lost her to is equally logical. After all, Draco has spent the vast majority of his life losing to Harry Potter.

Draco glances at his wife and she gives him a calculated smile. Astoria is a good partner and a fit mother. She gives exactly what she ought and not an ounce more. There is no talk of love between them, no pretty falsehoods to mask their realities. Draco tells himself that is what he wants.

Draco doesn’t typically lie to himself, he doesn’t see the point, but on this subject he makes an exception.

He does nothing by halves. He never has. Draco loves her as much now as he ever did. He knows that he always will. It is his cross to bear, this love. The atonement for all that he has done wrong, everything that he can never put right.

Sometimes Draco wishes he had access to a Time-Turner. It is so tempting to think about going back and changing the mistakes he made. Maybe if he had told her, if he had explained his reasons, things would have turned out differently. Then again, maybe they would turn out exactly the same. He’ll never know.

He thought he was being noble at the time. Leaving her had been the right and proper thing to do. They had been together for so short a period of time and already things were starting to go bad for her. Their picture together in Witch Weekly had caused Ginny to receive more than one Howler and even though she laughed it off he knew that she was upset by the wizarding world’s reaction to their romance.

So, when his parents had decided that it would be best to take a prolonged holiday on the continent, Draco had agreed to accompany them. He told himself that Ginny would be grateful, that time would ease the pains of separation and that, really, it was foolish to think that three blissful months equated true love.

Draco had been a fool.

By the time he had stopped being one it was too late. She was involved with Potter by then and even though it tore at him, Draco couldn’t bring himself to try and win her back. He had her and lost her and that was all there was to it.

Astoria touches his arm and Draco looks at her. She has a slight furrow between her eyebrows and he knows that she is concerned. He places a hand over hers and gives her a smile. She lets her hand fall back to her side and the furrow disappears, but Draco knows she is still anxious. He wants to alleviate her fears, but doesn’t know how.

She knows about her. Draco is a firm believer in full disclosure. Secrets have cost him a great deal in the past and he is determined that they never will do so in the future. Astoria went into their marriage with her eyes open the same way that Draco did. Yet even though he has told her all there is to know, Astoria still believes that Draco is leaving some things out.

Astoria is loyal. She is sleek and sophisticated. She adores their son and respects Draco’s parents. Astoria makes no demands, asks for no explanations. She is charming and beautiful, the perfect political wife. She fits seamlessly into Draco’s life, perfectly willing to play with whatever hand she is dealt.

She would never have done so. Life with her would have been complicated and messy. She would have said the wrong thing at the wrong time, her family connection would have been a hindrance. Relations with Draco’s parents would have been strained and he is almost certain that she would never have accepted anything without an explanation.

There is no way Draco could have the life that he leads if she were at his side.

It is a hollow comfort, but it is all that he has. Draco watches as across the platform a black head bends towards a red one. He averts his eyes at the last moment, unable to force himself to watch the tender kiss. Beside him, Astoria slips her hand into his, her fingers tightening in silent support.

Life is about choices, Draco thinks as he smiles down at his wife. She gives him a smile in return, a real one this time, and the pain inside him lessens.

**Author's Note:**

> 'When We Two Parted' is a poem by Lord Byron.


End file.
